


o kala o xariessa kora

by Cerberusia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/F, Flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 16:23:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4144524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerberusia/pseuds/Cerberusia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allison teaches Lydia how to shoot. Lydia teaches Allison something else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	o kala o xariessa kora

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hagiologic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hagiologic/gifts).



> I have finally, finally completed my last fic for hagiologic. It has taken me more than two years, a sad commentary on both my investment in Teen Wolf past S3a, and the fact that I write like a bloody glacier. But I did write it, and I enjoyed writing it for you, hagiologic, and I hope that you will still enjoy reading it after all this time.
> 
> This fic is set in between S2 and S3, with no attempt at canon compliance with the latter. The title is a Sappho fragment: 'O beautiful O very graceful a girl'.

"Like this," says Allison, taking up her own bow to demonstrate the correct stance. "You need to turn out your elbow or you'll catch it with the string." The leaves rustle in the gentle wind.

Lydia obediently rotates her elbow so it isn't in the path of the string. The metal frame of the bow is unexpectedly heavy, and it takes strength to hold it at arm's length.

"Now put three fingers on the string, " Allison holds up the three fingers in question, "one above the nock points, two below, just on the pads of the fingers." She demonstrates, and Lydia brings up her hand and mimics her.

"Now pull to the corner of your mouth." Allison smoothly draws the string back to her face. Lydia does the same.

That is to say, she gets halfway and stops, surprised by the resistance. Allison giggles, not unkindly.

"Come down and try again," she suggests, putting down her bow. "Pull with your back." Lydia lets her hands come together again and the bow droop. She takes a breath, then swings the bow back up and draws it - fully, this time, just like she's seen Allison do so many times. After a moment, she remembers to rotate her elbow.

"That's it," says Allison approvingly. Leaves crunch under her boots as she walks around Lydia; Lydia doesn't move. "It's this muscle you want to be using," she says, pressing Lydia's back just to the side of the armpit. Lydia has taken off her coat to try the light bow Allison has acquired for her, so she feels the warmth of Allison's hand through her sweater.

"Rhomboidus major and minor," she says absently, focussed on transferring the strain from her shoulder to her back. The string presses against her face.

" _These_ muscles," Allison corrects herself. "Don't talk at full draw."

_Yes ma'am,_ thinks Lydia, but raises a sardonic eyebrow for form's sake.

They go through the process of shooting an arrow - " _Not_ firing" - until Lydia's arm gets tired and Allison helps her unstring the bow before starting up her own practice. She likes to come out here when the weather's good, she'd told Lydia, even though the dense leaf litter will almost certainly eat any stray arrows, bright fletching or no. "I just have to be extra-careful!" she said, laughing. This, Lydia thinks, is modesty: she's never seen her misfire once.

Lydia makes herself comfortable on the blanket she brought and takes an apple from her bag. Allison has told her that she finds shooting very calming, with its set form and stillness. Lydia eats her apple and watches her go through the motions, smooth and graceful after years of practice. She becomes aware of faint birdsong. Allison, in her tunic and tall boots, her hair contained in a bun, looks like a kind of modern Diana, tall and beautiful and deadly. All she needs is a hunting dog at her heels.

_Not a virgin, though,_ thinks Lydia, licking juice from her fingers. She appraises Allison's figure, tall and slim, and thinks of the body beneath those clothes, seen when Allison has casually changed in front of her: the slim torso, the high breasts, the long, well-formed legs, the muscle definition in the arms. Allison is beautifully shaped.

Lydia has never tried it with another girl: too busy with boys, who are gratifyingly easy, even if they quickly become tiresome. She wonders: if she tried, could she convince Allison to have sex on this picnic blanket within the next half-hour? It's certainly a more appealing idea than the book on quantum mechanics in her bag in which the author demonstrates both his thorough knowledge of the subject and his regrettably Teutonic prose style.

An initial test is in order. She takes the book and sprawls on the blanket - on her front, her already low neckline plunging dangerously. She props herself up on her elbows, thrusting out her breasts, and opens the book to plough through some more turgid scientific prose. One knee is bent to allow her foot to dangle insouciantly in the air. Stereotyped, but always effective.

It is not, however, very comfortable for her back, and she has to wriggle occasionally in the minutes until Allison pauses in turning a redwood into a pincushion and says,

"Hey, are you still free for lunch after this?" It's their 'thing': weekly lunch dates, which if Lydia plays her cards right could become _actual_ dates. Lydia coming to the archery practice beforehand is new. She could get used to it, the still autumn air broken only by occasional birdsong and the steady thudding of arrows hitting wood.

"As free as always."

"'Kay." And Allison's eyes wander down, down into her cleavage. _Score_. Allison quickly snaps her gaze back up to Lydia's face; Lydia, taking another bite of her apple, pretends not to notice. The attention feels more gratifying from Allison than it had from the boys. Even her female best friend, who has seen her disgusting and snotty from crying, childlishly sulking and occasionally possessed isn't immune to her carefully-honed seduction technique.

Allison turns away and strides forward to pluck her arrows out of the tree. Lydia watches her with pleasure. Allison is not and never could be butch, but her steady, capable hands are a charming contrast to her girlish appearance. How warm they would be, how confident, sliding up Lydia's thighs.

Quantum mechanics failing to hold her attention, she considers her next move. At lunch, she decides, she'll brush her bare leg up Allison's calf and see how she reacts. It would be better if Allison were in a skirt, but there are things even Lydia can't control.

She tries it. Allison looks up from her wrap, startled.

"Lydia," she says after a pause, "are you trying to - seduce me?"

"Is it working?" Lydia takes a bite of her panini.

Allison stares at her, mouth twisted to one side in consideration.

"Not yet," she says.

Lydia just smiles and raises her foot a little higher.

Courting a girl, it turns out, is _thrilling_. You go to cafés, go to the cinema, go out into the woods, and all the time there are little opportunities to lean forwards, to drop hints, to smile flirtatiously, just like any date, except it's _not_ just a date: it's two friends hanging out, having a friendly chat. Lydia doesn't have to watch what she says around Allison, who grows ever more charming and interesting over the weeks.

Allison, for her part, hasn't said anything since that lunch in the café, just smiled when Lydia complimented her hair or her clothing, and then smiled wider when Lydia told her what a nice smile she had.

Lydia's never had to work so hard in her life.

When Allison goes to the bathroom during one of their dates, she sips her coffee and looks around. A woman two tables away is wearing a very flattering wrap dress. Lydia notices, of course, but she also finds the way it frames the woman's cleavage more interesting than she would have a few months ago. She thinks about Allison's cleavage, rarely bared, and decides to suggest more low-cut tops for her.

Allison emerges from the bathroom, lips freshly glossed. Lydia feels a powerful rush of affection for her familiar tall, slim silhouette, and hides it in her coffee cup.

It's fun, basically. She goes out with Allison, they chat, they make each other laugh, and sometimes Lydia holds her gaze or touches her wrist for a little too long, and Allison smiles and doesn't move away. They sit pressed close together on Lydia's squishy sofa or Allison's bed. It's wonderfully, blissfully easy. Even with Allison practising her shot virtually every day, werewolves seem very far away.

A week before the Christmas vacation, Lydia sees Scott and Allison in the hallway between third and fourth period. They're standing close together, heads bent intimately, and Lydia is shocked by the brief flash of hot fury that slices through her. _How **dare** he_.

She takes a few deep breaths, and walks on. Her face feels hot; her stomach feels strange.

Allison drives her home after school, as usual. Lydia listens to her talking about some guy saying something stupid in her fourth period class and about her weekend plans, watches her profile, and realises that she could happily listen to Allison talk about pleasant inanities forever, so long as she talked about them to Lydia.

Allison stops the car outside her house. Lydia's stomach twists. _Stop that_ , she tells herself, _this is juvenile_.

"So," she says lightly, "how's the seduction working so far?" Her heart is beating too fast.

Allison's dimples all appear.

"Pretty well," she says.

"Good," says Lydia, and carefully brushes Allison's hair off her cheek so she can touch it very gently as she leans in to kiss her.

Allison, thank God, kisses back. Lydia pulls back after a long moment, but keeps her fingertips to Allison's cheek, careful not to smudge her blusher. Allison is still smiling. She takes Lydia's other hand and squeezes it in her long, cool fingers.

"Lydia," she says, low and intimate, "do you want to go to the Winter Formal with me?"

"We'll have to buy our dresses together to be sure that they complement each other," says Lydia, and Allison grins wider before leaning in for another kiss.


End file.
